


A Soldier's Duty

by Fenris30



Series: Reticent Watcher [12]
Category: Tekken
Genre: Eventual Romance, Exposition, F/M, Fighting Game, Gen, Military, Military Uniforms, One Shot, Prequel, Romance, Some Humor, Tekken - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6146977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenris30/pseuds/Fenris30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergei Dragunov-a Spetsnaz whose very presence inspires fear around him-gets hired for one of his more interesting jobs. He has performed assassinations of all sorts, taken part in a countless number of successful missions, and has a kill count so high that even his superiors would never cross him in combat. Getting the job of guarding a near-eighteen-year old heiress named Lili Rochefort for an entire summer is not something that he would guess he'd ever be hired to do. But, Sergei being Sergei, he plans on doing this job to the best of his ability, like all the rest...</p><p>One-shot short prequel to Reticent Watcher. Goes with 'An Heiress' Life.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soldier's Duty

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of 'speed-write', so this has minimal editing; just mostly proofing, spellchecking, and the like.
> 
> So the idea behind these stories are quick one-shots of how they ended up in their original situation at the beginning of Reticent Watcher. As people know the basic idea of Rochefort Enterprises dealing with the Russian Military and getting Sergei as a bodyguard, I thought it might be fun to do a couple of short PoV pieces, in the vein of 'Watcher's Return' and 'Maybe One Day', showcasing what went on behind the scenes. 
> 
> For the record-I don't plan on doing these for every bit of downtime. I like to leave some things to the imagination, after all. But I felt these would be neat!

He wound back, his fist striking the smaller man in the side of the head in a vicious haymaker; as he went to his knees, he clenched his huge hands together, greeting him with a powerful axe handle before he could stand. The man hit the ground with a muffled grunt, turning his head to the side just long enough for him to slam his enormous boot down onto the side of his head.

The man on the ground moaned. He had gotten _one_ good hit in, he thought to himself through a daze. His stomach had contorted for a short moment when he felt the boot-heel hit the side of his head; he knew-had he been on his opponent's bad side-things would have gotten _incredibly_ messy. He figured the sick feeling in the pit of his gut was a very mild version of what one of his enemies may have felt in that split second before he caved their head in.

It was _not_ a nice feeling.

Sergei let the man up and spit a line of red onto the mat...which was stained with blood. It looked horrible, but it actually was not that bad when you realized five men just used it for sparring, and bloodied noses or split lips tended to shed enough blood that things could look worse than they actually were. He brushed his sweaty hair back from his face. Fighting took effort, and the late May weather was already getting rather hot; it had to be around eighty already and it was rather early in the morning.

The smaller man sat back on his heels, rubbing his head. He would have a headache for sure tonight, between the three vicious blows he just took. He stood, shaking himself off. Sergei nodded to him. All four of the other men nursed bruises, bumps, and the aforementioned bloody noses and lips, but they felt better for it all the same. Training with Sergei made them better soldiers, they knew.

The military usually sent Sergei Dragunov to train with the men in hand to hand combat; given he was likely their best soldier and easily their best unarmed combatant, he was the ideal man for the job.

The men were wary around him...but respected him. There was always a _bit_ of underlying fear, though.

His nickname was 'The White Angel of Death', and for good reason. He likely had a higher kill count than even higher ranked men...and most of them put together, at that, despite him being a couple years shy of thirty. What's more, most of these kills were likely with his bare hands, as they knew he used weapons only when necessary. He was skilled with them, and he would use any tools necessary for the job...but he was easily the most 'alive', for lack of a better word, when he was in close quarters with an enemy.

He was an officer himself; albeit of a lower rank, and still answered to others. Rumors were abound that he had apparently turned down promotions so he could keep his spot on the field, as going much higher would have put him in more of a tactical position. No one knew if these were true or not...they didn't ask.

They didn't ask anything, really. Sergei was an enigma. He was a very large man-standing a head over most of them, probably six and a half feet tall even without his massive boots on. He was freakishly pale, covered in scars and his eyes were unnaturally light; a pale, whitish-blue that seemed to gaze through someone if he glared at them.

He also rarely spoke. Only when he had to, and in as few words as possible. This did nothing to take away his downright menacing air. If anything, it just piled onto it.

Then there was the fact that he had what seemed to be a heightened strength and endurance; nobody really knew how or what, but he seemed to be able to do things above and beyond what even a man his size could usually do. It wasn't really something he showed off, unless it was ruining training bags and the chains they were attached to, or walking off the effects of a bullet wound to the shoulder until he could get it treated properly. But generally, if he went full force, it resulted in a whole lot of blood and an enemy that never lived to talk about it. No one really asked; they just appreciated that he was on  _their_ side.

But he was loyal, he followed his orders without question, and performed mission after mission with success. He would occasionally see some trouble...this usually came from when he did not get specific enough orders to leave certain enemies alive.

He tended to leave them in various states of ruin without specific instructions to spare them.

Civilians were off-limits, though. He had a strange sort of code that he would not harm any non-combatants if it could be helped. He had to order strikes at times, but in terms of his units, they were given specific instructions not to harm non combatants.

There had apparently been incidents where he killed insubordinate men.

He remained highly respected, though, through all of this. It was not only fear. In fact, so long as you followed orders and were not an enemy, one really had little to fear from him.

It didn't hurt to make sure some of the green soldiers learned discipline quickly, however.

Sergei nodded to them, dismissing them. They carried themselves off, wincing a bit but holding up. Sergei smirked; he felt they would do fine. He jumped out of the ring, his heavy frame hitting the concrete rather loudly as he went over to the chair to grab his tank top, the pack of cigarettes he left there, and his lighter; he drank some water from a canteen on the chair before stepping outside into the morning sun.

Naturally on a military base the day started early; training started about an hour after eating. It was around nine now, and Sergei had a bit of time to relax before getting in the showers. He had a meeting in the early afternoon, apparently to get a new mission; he didn't know much about it except he would be staying elsewhere for awhile and it was a rather long-serving one. He was quite curious. He would do any missions-everything from scouting to guard duty to assassinations-it was all the same to him.

He scratched at a bit of dried blood on the leg of his fatigues; probably when he cracked one of the trainees with a harder-than-normal strike. He held back, naturally-he wanted them good, not dead. He actually thought those four would make for decent soldiers. They were fairly new, he was told, but they seemed to behave well and were fairly skilled for their ages, which he would put at perhaps barely twenty. They had been here about six months now.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, pushing back his long hair; it was going to be hot today, if the morning was already like this. He wondered what this summer would bring. At least the main barracks were nicely air conditioned, but he was able to handle about any sort of weather. It didn't bother him, even though he did have a preference for cooler days.

Finishing his cigarette, he kicked it out on the ground and went back inside and headed toward the showers. He would see soon where his mission would send him this time.

–

Sergei looked over the folder his superior handed him. The officer was a graying man of about fifty, though quite a bit smaller than Sergei. Like many of his rank, he did not do much field work these days, but was still an incredible tactician. Sergei trusted when he said things.

He wore his field outfit; he usually dealt with his officers in his dress wear, but he was due out for another training exercise. Besides his combat boots and cargos, he wore a heavy combat vest, made to carry many items for the field. He wore little else, given the heat he would be going out into.

Blinking, he flipped through the folder slowly. He recognized the name.

_Rochefort. The tournament._

Sergei had taken part in the last two King of Iron Fist tournaments, though he was still not able to reach his goal. He was undefeated, but something always managed to go wrong at the wrong time. When dealing with the supernatural, this tended to happen. Something would always get in the way of everything. He made two allies, though-for him, this was a rarity. They could even be called personal allies.

Thinking back, he remembered the Rochefort girl faintly; to his memory, she was young and brash, yet still refined and polite. She was defeated, but did fairly well with her raw style, obviously self trained. He never actually crossed paths with her, though. Anyone he was not put up against tended to steer a wide berth around him. Given that Sergei generally did not like a lot of company, he was fine with this.

“I guard her?” he asked.

“Yes,” the man replied. “It is a long mission, however. Until the late fall.”

He blinked. “My duties?”

“We will call you back if you are needed.” He cleared his throat. “Rochefort Enterprises deals in oil. We made a deal with them recently. We will be well-supplied for anything we need. He also attached a fairly large sum in order to secure some protection for his only daughter and heir.”

“Is she in danger?”

“He isn't sure, he knows that the Zaibatsu has been interested in him and his company for a long time, though. He had trouble with them before...as do we, of course.”

Sergei nodded once. _Mutual interests. It all ties together._

“So I guard her, and deal with any Zaibatsu who come my way.”

“Exactly,” the man replied. “It is of mutual benefit to us all. We have a common enemy, we have a need, and he has a need. The amount of money offered...I felt it only proper to send you.” He paced around the office, adjusting a painting on the wall. “I know you, of all of my men, can deal with any Mishima Zaibatsu uprisings rather easily, as well.” He paused. “The reason why I'm sending you is that while I could have sent several others...one is discreet. He liked the idea of fewer than more, and I know you alone are worth more men that would have been feasible to send.”

“I will live there?”

“Yes, on their manor. It is quite lavish, I am told. You will have anything you need, on request. They do have training facilities.”

“Does he not have guards?”

“He does. But he was concerned about their overall ability. Good for minor things...against trained enemies, he wasn't so sure.”

Sergei just nodded. He didn't mind the sound of it. Training facilities, luxurious surroundings. If anything he was afraid he might be a bit bored. He wondered what the young lady would be like. He figured, at worst, he would have to deal with a near-eighteen-year-old who would get stubborn once in awhile.

“When do I leave?” he asked.

“Five days from now. We will summon you back if necessary, as said previously.”

Sergei nodded, saluting. He turned and walked out, thinking about what would be ahead of him the next few months.

\--

_He wasn't joking. This place is...enormous._

It was the only word he could think of off the top of his head to describe the manor; enormous.

He sat in the back of the lavish limousine; Mr. Rochefort had his head chauffeur pick him up from the private airport, Sebastian-the loyal and longtime family butler-in tow. He had simply greeted him with a handshake and a nod; Sebastian had been told he was quiet. He had given him a basic rundown, but Mr. Rochefort would do the rest.

The limo pulled up to the front, and he slid out; grateful for a chance to stretch his legs. The limo was well air-conditioned, but the weather outside was hot; he wore his dress uniform, which was not particularly made for such weather. Long-sleeved button down shirt, brown jacket, tie, and slacks tucked into his huge pair of jackboots; he even wore his officer's cap, though his leather gloves were tucked into his belt. The servants came to get his bags, somewhat obviously wincing how heavy they were. He had four large ones, one of them holding things like his body armor and weaponry. The morning was partly sunny and rather humid. 

He nodded to the chauffeur who opened the door and walked up the stairs to the main door, which he pushed open.

He didn't realize places like this existed. It looked more like one of the world's most extravagant hotel lobbies; a huge set of stairs going up the center and countless rooms going around. There were four floors and a basement level as far as he knew, though he believed the top floor was a bit smaller. He was told his room would be near Lili's for protection purposes.

A graying man of average height and slim build walked up, wearing a rather fine business suit. His hair was combed neatly off to the side, and a trim mustache adorned his face. He shook Sergei's hand firmly, though he looked a bit nervous gazing up at the massive man. Sebastian had mentioned he was a pacifist. Sergei hoped he was the right man for this job.

“Mr. Dragunov. Welcome. We'll go over your duties after you get settled, and after that we will take you on a tour of the manor. Sebastian will take you to your quarters.”

Sergei simply nodded. Mr. Rochefort was told that this was a very, _very_ quiet man. He only hoped Sergei would not mind his daughter's sometimes rather talkative nature.

“We have anything you need in the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” he said, nodding. He decided to take two of his own heaviest bags, after seeing the amount of work some of the servants went through with them. He followed Sebastian up to the second floor, down a lavish hallway, and past a door that had a few decorations on it, albeit rather expensive ones. Sebastian nodded toward it.

“Ms. Rocheforts,” he said. Sergei nodded as they continued to the next one and entered.

It was enormous; it had a huge bed, a couch, recliner, tables, a desk, a balcony...everything he could want. His own massive bathroom. It was almost like a penthouse suite. He smirked slightly at everything as he put his things down. He took the bags from the other servants before they collapsed. They blinked as he seemed to handle them effortlessly.

“You may take your time,” Sebastian said. “Let us know if you need anything.”

Sergei nodded again, walking around the room to examine more things.

_I suppose enjoying a bit of comfort is not necessarily a bad thing..._

–

Sergei looked over the sprawling grounds as he stood on the balcony, smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee. It was truly fine coffee; he had not drank any of this quality for a very, very long time, and he recalled that was only when he was guarding a diplomat. He could smoke outdoors, in his quarters, and in other specified rooms of the house; there were some that it was off limits. The study was fine, as Mr. Rochefort often enjoyed a pipe in there.

The grass was a perfect green, and everything was naturally perfectly tended. He knew a large and tough fence surrounded everything, but Mr. Rochefort truly supplied for his daughter, and he wanted the best personal protection his money could earn. Sergei had promised he would not be disappointed. Mr. Rochefort had told him

Sergei had changed into his tank top, cargoes, and combat boots; it was nice after being in his stuffy formal wear in this heat, even though it was getting close to evening. Some clouds seemed to be blowing in, possibly leading to a little bit of rain tonight, but the start of the sunset looked rather nice.

He stubbed out his cigarette in the elaborate ashtray and turned to walk inside. He saw a young woman-taller than average, dressed fairly casually in jeans, a tank top, and sneakers; all were of a very expensive brand though, he imagined. She had long, blond hair, blue eyes, and was shapely from years of dancing and a little martial arts snuck in on the side. He recognized her from the tournament, indeed. She was holding a large mug of something.

 _Ms. Rochefort,_ he thought. He walked in, bowing politely. She smiled.

“Mr. Dragunov?” she asked, looking both a bit nervous but also somewhat in awe of the guard her father had picked out for her. Her eyes traveled up and down his massive frame, seemingly checking out his collection of scars.

“Sergei,” he said. He figured he would make her comfortable.

“Lili,” she said. “Don't need to call me 'Ms. Rochefort,' like the rest of them do.” She snorted.

Sergei smirked. He nodded silently. He bowed his head again, leaving her to whatever she had been planning to do.

He missed her smile and slight, but good-natured eyeroll.

He also didn't see her examining him-just a little-on the way out.

 _Should be an easy time,_ he thought.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So that's it! Just a little one-shot from Sergei's point of view on how he ended up there. Nothing particularly crazy, and it's one of the all-ages stories even! While I'm no stranger to them, my Sergei/Lili works tend highly mature. 
> 
> You all know where things go from here, of course...
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
